Yellow

My heart was pounding. My foot pressed firmly against the pedal slowly gained speed up Denny Ave. Regrade my ass, I can barely get this four banger up the damn street! It didn’t help that this was the first real date I’ve been on in months. Hopefully she wouldn’t get to see my piece of shit truck, so I purposely looked for parking blocks away from our destination, out of sight. The day was typical, it was June, somewhat gloomy, chilly… definitely a day to grab a quality hoodie or light jacket. I wore the Seattle Blacks, you know, black jeans, shoes, and coat, and I believe I had a black cap on as well, the typical style of most kids on the hill for a late spring chilly day. My grey truck squeaked to a stop somewhere deep in the zone parking area; I had two hours until this date would become more expensive with a parking ticket. I lit up a fourth Marlboro 27 and gave myself the halftime locker room pep talk. Ok, let’s do this shit! The black concrete moved under my feet like a treadmill and the overcast gloom gave me no particular enthusiasm. My heart raced, and mind recreated pictures and moments of the few minutes we spent together the night before, she was beautiful. The pep talk was taking hold and I was prepared to woo and whoa her every delight. I turned the corner, slowly stepping with the cockiness of Tony Manero, taking the sexiest drag of my cigarette I could image, and then placing it beneath my middle finger and flicking it to the curb. I watched the embers explode and extinguish on the cold concrete as my eyes rose from the street. Slowly, each degree revealed a deeper beauty, and I became captivated by the most incredible woman, wearing a bright yellow jacket! Warmth, hope, and happiness punched me in the stomach and took my breath away! The grey gloom disappeared and the sun was shining a bright yellow love. The buildings around us changed into a forest, exposed with no canopy, the newly existant sunshine illuminated the area like lights on a stage. I had to shield my eyes. I was in a fantasy world. This yellow jacket, most likely made of cotton, had the style of a light and miniature pea coat, buttoned from her waist to her breasts, and fastened with a 2 inch thick belt around her ribs. Our rendezvous was at a bar, a small old house looking building which had a large wooden deck at its entrance. We looked up and suddenly the wooden structure rose from the soil as a grandeur ship, soaked deep with adventure. The bow was constructed of a single beam, carved like a totem pole, revealing the past, or future. It rose powerfully like a plant germinating, breaking its seed for its first breath of life, but on a Roman scale. As we both looked down to the street, we saw to disbelief that we were floating in a mahogany row boat of master craftsmanship. An energy twisted through my blood veins, I couldn’t speak, my words usually so bold and witty collapsed into the sea we now floated upon. Weird fishes of the brightest colors swam playfully around us, rainbows stretched across all parts of the land like the LA freeway system. Music, compassionate and invigorating chirped from the tropical birds flying above. My Seattle blacks faded into neon hues and exposed my twitterpated heart. The heat was intense, but the last thing I wanted to do was find shade. Rhythm and love began twirling in a hurricane of emotions, impossible to express in any way, except for one. “Do you like to dance?” she questioned. The light of day had already faded, we had been together for over my two hour parking limit, and I felt that I had only been standing here for moments. The moon was a smiling light of cheese and the stars scurried around the sky as millions of fire flies, smiling upon our acquaintance. I looked around and felt a warmth, like this yellow jacket was made to keep me comfortable and at ease. “I love to dance.” I replied, and yellow has been my favorite color since.

Blue

I spent a brief time skipping rocks on the Mississippi about two years ago. I’m still not sure if I am a completely horrible rock skipper, or if the overbearing muddy brown waters weigh my flat stone down to sink it to the bottom after only one or two measly jumps. The history of the good ole Mississippi is intriguing and sets an ambiance that only Tom and Huck could truly explain. I couldn’t help but to think that, water is blue. Not brown, and the transparently blue tides of the Caribbean, or a glacier lake, the fade of blues in a large wave, and the tints of green between the rapids of a river all set a calming yet powerful tone and are the mothers and fathers of what the Mississippi is. The two largest things this earth has are the water and the sky, and we are on this ever changing vessel called land. I’ve recently found that I perhaps have felt the most alive while swimming naked in the ocean. I typically would prefer a lake or pool of freshwater, soothing. But when you enter into the salty ocean, as it slowly moves all around you, like lying in the bath, letting it rise millimeter by millimeter around your body, feeling every water molecule cling and surround your skin, you can’t help but to feel alive. The blue becomes a fountain of youth, when you’re naked. Even just a small European or Brazilian bathing suit constricts the true freedoms that are being handed to you by this creation. Then when you dive under the surface, you are free. The water moves over you like the hands of the most skilled masseuse, holds you like an incredible lover, and lets you free like pollen billowing off a field of a thousand wild flowers. You never want the feeling to end, but you need to breathe! Bursting out of the surface to that first breath gives you an idea of the preciousness of life. Regardless to how or why we achieved our consciousness, it is inevitably a gift, and this luscious blue water had been like a yearly Christmas present from a distant relative reminding you that you are loved. As air fills your lungs, your eyes begin to open. And there above you is the blue sky, soaring for an unexplainable distance until it begins again. The sky is our ceiling, protecting us, and creates the possibility for life, its calm and deep, ever changing with the hours of the day, rotations of the sun and moon. It harvests our fresh water and releases it to once again create. They hold blue to a true standard. A mind stunned by the complete power of nature enters euphoria, leaving other senses immobile. In this case you may then be pounded back into the sea by the same power of nature. As you take your second breath, staring into the cloudless blue sky, the force of a stampede of stallions crashes over the top of this temporary body, hurtling you deep under the surface. The water scoops and sweeps you in its own circle of life revolving and shaking with a power that no man, however strong, could withstand. You’re lungs are out of air, under water, naked, just the same as the blissful swim moments ago. Now fearful of death, scared and not in control, airless, the wave releases you. Control of your body and strength over the tide rebuilds confidence and your mind stops to panic and controls your body responsibly again. Through the wavy glare of the water beneath the surface, the blue sky above seems to be fiendishly holding this air, like a drug dealer waiting for an estranged customer to relapse. You fill your lungs again, and quickly swim to the shallows; into the protection land gives us. Looking out into the blue, smiling, there is nothing to do but thank the water. It is like God, giving the bliss and pleasure of living, but more powerful, full of more energy than a million atomic bombs. As you just now, I remember standing in the wash on the shore about up to my shins, and felt the push and pull of the water, constant.  That push and pull will not stop, never sleep, and never end until the end of Earth. The blue sky and the blue sea will work together, forever showing us how precious life is, the chances we have to be free, and the limitations our mortality sets. The answers are clear, well, the answers are actually blue, and blue has been my favorite color ever since.

RED

I strolled down Mercer Ave to go to work, and my toes got chilly! These damn Chucks, I love them and hate them. The rubber is worn to the sole, the canvas ripped and torn. They’re only a few months old and I spent 60 fucking bucks for the most minimalist shoe wear on the market! I do like the color, they’re red. Red perplexes my mind. It is bright and positive, dark and twisty, bold and daring, full of life and death. Red makes a statement, and is always seen. Most cars stopped for speeding are red, stop signs are red, Christmas is red, heat is red, pain is red, love is red, blood is red. I remember watching myself bleed as a kid. I was rollerblading through the neighborhood and saw some older kids grinding the curb. I thought to myself, sliding looks fun! I like to slide. I made my approach, of course at a distant curb from the tweenagers to protect my neighborhood reputation, or lack thereof one. I pushed off with my right blade gaining a slight speed at a gentle angle towards the curb of the side walk, knees bent, focused directly on the stretched corner of this strange cube. I leapt enough to clear the edge and locked on between the 2^nd and 3^rd wheels of my blades anticipating freedom to hit my soul like riding through the curl of a wave. The gritty concrete gripped me, holding me like a fearful mother, freezing my skates, throwing my momentum from my hips over my shoulders and into the street where I began. I threw out my arms as airbags for my body and felt my hands scratching the rocky crust, grating the skin on my lower palms. I frantically looked up to see if anyone had observed the failure of my treacherous feat. The older kids rolled on further down the road, oblivious to my presence. Quickly, I leapt back up on my blades and scurried away to a vacant grassy knoll at the park nearby. I dabbed the blood into the grass, my grandmother would be furious if I stained my jeans. As the adrenalin subsided the sting began to slightly grow. I peered at the back of my hands slowly turning them outward revealing the consequence of my decisions. I watched the cool blue veins in my wrist, I could see each blood cell like a group of rafters on the Wenatchee, flowing into my palms, and out the perforated holes on the juicy part of the hand under my thumb. I could almost see the transition in slow motion, life turning to pain. Blue turning to red. I whimpered for a short instance, consumed in self pity as the red slowly filled the small pieces of my skin that had been torn away. Then, I saw it, almost for the first time, this amazing color. It invigorated me, empowered me, entranced me. It had texture and depth that inspired me to live. It was beautiful. Red has always been my favorite color since.

Phanto-YEA!

New Phantogram track has been hitting the waves. It keeps the feel and vibe that I love about Phantograms original album. Perhaps not as memorizing as 'Mouthful of Diamonds' but urges you to wanna take a large bong toke and to dance by yourself in your living room.

 New Black Keys on the way out too! I don't know how I feel about this track. I am being a little bit judgemental I believe, but if this is their new shit, their best shit is behind them as your shit usually is.
I always enjoy random guys dancing in videos, but after Christopher Walken guested in Fatboy Slims Weapon of Choice video, nothing has been able to compare. Still a solid shit, I mean track.

Watercolor Painting "These Arms" A Lo-Fi Record Adventure

Excuse me, could you please remove your shoes before entering, Socks Too!! Bare feet. Now, pretend that your feet are one; they collide together and join harmoniously. Yes, good and now your entire body is just that. Naked as your two bare feet, excuse me, one bare foot that is representing your body as a whole... Do you work out?  More so, are you comfortably confused, naked as a large foot man or woman!? Great!! Now take your big toe, which I suppose would translate to being your head, and dip into your favorite color. Now dip all your toes!  Like your ears and eyes, nose and teeth, dip all them little piggy’s in the paint. Okay, okay… so now, now we have facetiously developed an alternate reality to create with! Or, we have created an appropriate atmosphere for listening to the new album “These Arms” by Watercolor Paintings!

A lo-fi record adventure, at times is somewhat mysterious, in such a tech savvy industry, it sounds like it could have been a demo in 1978.  In the world today of laptop DJs and an endless list of at home studio record labels uploading tracks onto the internet like pissing into the ocean, what is lo-fi and someone who sucks at recording gets confused. The difference is not in the equipment, but inside your soul!  I’ve never met Ms. Redman, but I know her soul is all the technology needed to portray her feelings, she knows what she wants.  At times the ambiance on the tracks seem to be of a friend filled living room, outside in the front yard cars passing, some tracks sound like a gymnasium or cafeteria, some sound  back or side stage preshow. What it doesn’t sound like is a soundless vocal booth. Her words are powerful, witty, and at times just cutely confused in the ukulele twang or harmony vocal. Though I realized that I listened to the album in two distinct ways; one being that I intently listened to the lyrical content, or two, would find the specific words to be lost and the sound simply combusting and reconnecting into a gritty duet of string and voice upon sound waves that have never been genetically modified. But, sometimes you just want some beef and processed cheese on it.

The world doesn’t like fresh.  A super size me civilization has tolled the common man’s brain and what he believes to be good. Even myself at first listen found the sounds to be unlistenable in an inadvertent setting.  When I played the album for the first time, it was over doing other writing and work, playing in the background, and was lost in my thoughts to deem this artist as another confused girl with a guitar and group of fun loving hipster friends in California, who’s intentions are to be ultra unique, creating overused themes of timeless youthful ponders and thoughts. Was my stereotype correct? With all these Neko Case wannabees playing there intimate sets filled with lifeless, movementless crowds, falling into the feminism of Lillifest and woman’s rights in the 21^st century, a Folklife fanatic, hairy armpits and all! I looked up from my screen and saw myself in the reflection atop my browser opened to Google +. My face surrounded the screen like a connect-the-dots puzzle. I was becoming a social network, filled with judgment! NEVER!! I rushed to the closet and threw off my clothes, I don’t need THEM!! You see, I found that I was being just that, a hypocritical music whore stereotyping artists in genres I don’t particularly like or listen to often!! As timing usually plays a key part in life, it did now.  An acapella antidote called ‘Bigger than Yours’ began to play. The simple ideas of comfort and love created an instant feeling in my heart! I slid the socks of my feet with the opposite foots toe, and imagined them as my face watercolor painting. The harmonies created smooth glides across gritty brick walls, and I said okay, this lo-fi folk thing is cool with me!

I continued to listen with intent, naked at my desk, freed of societal chains directing my opinions to my heart, and not my facebook status. This slowly started to transition as the music charmed me to begin to draw. Lines became a man, which became a man with a stick and a pinecone. He soon began to use the pinecone to record the singing of a woman growing out of a tree nearby. The trees leaves slowly burned into the sunset atop the page and my wrist began to weaken as the last track “Spider Web” began to play. I decided it would be a good time to medicate. I found even now, that through the record, I still in my nudity was nit picking little things in my brain due to the low-fi recording; loss of tone and dynamics, clips and pops. Then, during ‘Spider Web’, it sounded perfect. The sweet harmonies broke my heart and made me cry yet smile again by the next line. Ms. Redman’s voice was charming my pants off! Well, they were already off, but you know what I mean. I found that I love her song, her voice. It’s so sweet and lovely, tender, silly and fun! Yes, and as I said before Ms. Redman knows what she wants. Not a mass of people giving her track 15 seconds of a listen and judging the hell out of it. She wants the people who will intently listen to HER. Her voice was designed by rainbows for people to listen to it, for people to paint to it, to make love to it, to be inspired by something so small.

Now remove your foot from foot, and extract your body to become whole again. But let them walk the streets of our world knowing that you can be naked and transform inside or outside anything whenever you want. Embrace what is not real, what is real, and choose to embrace art that was made to be art and not a product of consumption. Choose to listen to the new record “These Arms” by Watercolor Paintings! Oh, and yes, you can put your shoes back on. Thank you.

Buy 'These Arms" !!!!!!!!

Listen to more Watercolor Paintings!!

Pumping Out Soul Like God

Arriving late with my lady we peered past the smoking section, through the show flyer filled window of the Crocodile Café, to catch a glimpse of what we hopefully haven’t missed. Allen Stone is back again; tonight he’s sold out the house preshow, and is playing a double set from acoustic lover, to soul party! The players that surround him all seemed to be new, pieced together to travel in Allen’s Econoline the last few weeks opening up for Nikka Costa on a West Coast tour! “This band is playing tight, like champions,” Allen explained to me, “they bring the noise”! Now they’re back in the good ole NW, just off playing Bellingham, and ready to blow the lid off the needle! The crowd was still filling in during Allen’s opening acoustic set, designed to please the soft hearted soul and folk fans that scatter the emerald city, and have taken a liking to Allen’s indie pop soul folk sounds. I like to call it Erotic Folk, but that’s just me! He slipped away off stage as I entered through the door, only hearing the amazing reviews from countless friends who beat me through. “I had the chills… the entire time!” One girl confessed to me after over hearing my questions about the soft set! “That’s what I came to see!” she finished.

Ladies and Gentlemen.... Allen Stone!

We all know that Allen has a worldly recognizable voice. It’s fucking pure beauty of baby roses blooming out of the sun rise! His voice layered with just a six string, and you’re bound to experience something beyond. But, people that know me well, and don’t know me at all, know that I like to party! And I, personally, was waiting to get a dose of some funk and soul to my FACE! Donning a throwback Sonics v-neck, Allen cut up the oriental rug on stage like he was getting lessons from Sharron Jones and James Brown! The band filled the room with an explosive attack! Allen whaled! Julian stole my beer and drank it, we took airplane shots from a girl’s purse, and we danced! On stage, Allen knew he was the Flux Capacitor of party, flailing new variations of the ‘Silly Boy’ (official dance of the Chapustry) that other’s never believed possible.  The entire crowd began to shake it harder and harder!

Everyone was dancing, there was no room to break out any special moves and I needed, desperately, to Break Out!! I reached toward the stage hand in hand with all the fans, we channeled our energy to him, to Allonious Funk himself!! Our energy slowly began filling his soul making him grow into the size of an Avatar like creature. Allen’s face started transforming into a grimy, dirty, greasy, and nasty soul sex spectacular! His notes and words began to extract from beyond into a mystical aurora borealis above! Everything was connected. This connection, this miracle was happening! Sound waves swirled and unraveled themselves through the rafters creating lines you could grab onto! People began to climb up them, into the rafters, entranced by glory, to dance on the ceiling.  

Movement was made without friction, dancing was effortless, emotion was beyond control, the universal meditation has begun with music as its fuel. Allen burned it like a 67’ Camero! He was pumping out soul like God. He was untouchable. And the night never stopped. I slipped out of the realm to write this before it ultimately traveled to a distant dimension where such funky soul actually makes sense. Somewhere beyond our universe, Allen and that crowd are still there, still singing, still dancing, on all the walls and ceilings, swinging on the sound waves like jungle vines, sipping the sweet nectars of another’s mind, in a timeless glide across a rippleless pond… Hopefully, he can make it back to this dimension for his show in Cour de Lane, ID tonight, or that sold out crowd will be pisssssssssed!

Read "Allen Stone Makes Dreams Come True" reviewing Allen's April 9th, 2011 show at Nuemos.

Allen Stone Makes Dreams Come True  

http://stylesbentley.blogspot.com/2011/04/allen-stone-makes-dreams-come-true.html

The Continuing Adventures of X, Y, and Z

B.

The sky was empty of eyes. Finally. Their liquor tainted patients had out smarted theorized creators. Shoulders, light and eager carried supplies for a rotation away from the sofa. Y, younger and inexperienced followed X with a comfortable anxiety. X relinquished his with a four pack of Dry English Hard Apple Cider as they let the flowing mist carry them through buildings and trees. The darkness was thick. Only the flames of someone’s mistake gave us direction of our destination. Color faded in this grey harbor town. Childhood seemed to be lost. X was at home and Y understood. Then they met Z.

 Cautiously out of the woods he greeted them. At first a light hearted dressing coated the appetizer of the evening. Laughter helped light the unknown land. X and Z had experience of this water logged solid soil, and Y was here to experience it. As so many times before, between X and Y now Z had chosen to speak without his ears.

Y found this as a challenge and slid his sounds out of his mouth into a sword of speech. Z quickly embraced his bow and similarly slid an arrow from his mouth and prepared his weapon. Flurries of communication whirl pooled and angered the flame increasing its size and intense heat. Z and Y found themselves battling breath. Arrows grazed Y’s coat and hard thrusts swung wide of Z’s dialogue. Suddenly, through the shadows, X emerged glowing with grammatical furry. He was shielded with the finest of verbs and adjectives and armed with the wildest tales and facts. Combative conversation was declared and war waged through the evening until the last drop of another minds sweet nectar fell to the fires. Still, no equation had been solved.

SSG, I Want Battles Tickets!!!!

Damn the luck of a man with an empty wallet! Upon this glorious day here in the Emerald City, my pocket book became filled again with treats of collections! I enthusiastically awoke at 11:30 am after a brief nightmare and small sips of Cranberry Apple juice. After checking the email, the facebook, and all the b.s. I strolled over to the Crocodile's website to buy tickets to a highly anticipated show (at least in my life) and came to the appropriate page. Two words, CAPS locked, Bold read; "SOLD OUT"!!! I felt similar to the kids in Detroit Rock City and this website totally jacked my KISS tickets. This is no kiss show tho my friends, this is Battles! A band that has taken experimentation of live and electronic instruments to a solid groove canyoning into my dancing shoes. Rustic and alternative, I must be there to observe! It is now up to the hands of few. The people at SSG (http://www.ssgmusic.com/), the people who have brought us the best and most current local, national, and international band reviews articles and opinions. Why, a chap like me might even beg them for a job eventually, but for now I just need the TICKETS!! My fingers are quivering and typing with agile speed to perhaps persuade the mind of control to choose my life and enlighten my soul before another being could be of higher persuasion! And now, only time shall tell....

www.myspace.com/battlestheband

"Smelly Calore" Debut EP from Styles Bentley

Cover of "Smelly Calore"

EXPERIMENTAL LOVE POP. Can you dig?! 'Smelly Calore', which is directly translated from the french language, means 'Love Stinks'. These love songs are not molded to the good old grease lightning love lullaby's of yesterday, but of more interesting situations like; that girl who is in all of your dreams, peepin fine hunny's at the club, and even the love of a child and parent. The EP is compiled of old tracks, new lyrics, old lyrics and new tracks pieced together in simplicity for your enjoyment. Shows are soon to come, as well as a full length album summer 2011 Presented by Styles Bentley called "Charming Friends"!! But for now kiddos, enjoy the "Smelly Calore"!!

Free Download and Streaming at:www.reverbnation.com/stylesbentley

Who is the 2011 Coachella NOS MONSTER!?!?!

NOS energy drinks hold 357 MG of caffeine. When microwaved, the liquid solution actually melts and destroyed ceramic plates! When consumed by a human, even just one can, you are committed to having an ulcer at some point in your life! Fortunately, for the 27 people residing at the Coachella NOS Estate in Palm Desert, California this past weekend, we had an unlimited supply, unlimited energy, unlimited drugs, and liquor! The effect of Fear and Loathing during our pot smoking adolescence has led us to a house of ultimate physical destruction and ultimate mental enlightenment. A place where masters of the silliness like the NOS Father could finally thrive as crazed loonies jabbering gibberish at the Statue of David’s dirty condom hanging from a limp stone wang!! This is not our first adventure of such desires. It was our sophomore year in such situations for my heterosexual life partner Julian Gavilanes and I, last year taking the word ‘Party’ to a new height. Yet, as true renaissance men we had to progress. On a level of 1-10, our goal this year was to reach a 13th level of rambunctiousness! Meaning that between Julian, Father NOS, and myself we would reach, yes, a 39!! We had to go further, harder, and sillier than ever before!

In the past year of 2010, a similar territory was created as a home when away from the Coachella Music Festival. Here I learned from ‘Father NOS’ the true effects of such a concoction. This energy drink does something beyond waking you up after your lunch break to make it through the rest of the work day. After consuming so much it changes you, it melts you, and births a new life form, an outcast, an alien, it transforms you into a ‘NOS Monster’! ‘Father NOS’ legally know as Aaron Glatzer, told us tales of years past, the mayhem he spread, and the powers that NOS can give you. Father NOS was the original NOS Monster, he has been so enlighten by NOS he doesn’t even drink it anymore… he eats it!! (http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1593652139#!/video/video.php?v=10150552432230467) In the year of 2010, I, Styles Bentley became the NOS monster during the traditional episode of Cribs Coachella. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=63Da3uCR8Xg)  And now, 2011, a new NOS Monster must be crowned!! But who would reach the new heights of silliness, perhaps perform a 14 on the silliness scale? We could only wait and see who the NOS would choose to posses.




The NOS Father, Aaron Glatzer, at
our Coachella NOS Estate.

 Newly a single man, Julian Gavilanes (yes, he’s single ladies) had a raging boner from the time we took our first shot of Tequila in the Alaskan Lodge at the Sea-Tac Airport Thursday morning at 6am. New to sexuality in the 21 century, Julian forgot to bring any “protection”, and realized this at the first sight of a girl in a bikini at the pool. Luckily, a local Flamingo was in town and purchased him a variety pack of condoms from the convenience store. The first night was unsuccessfully sexy for him. After the high consumption of booze and NOS I’m positive his penis was inoperable and a quarter inch in length. Despite his kebbler elf sized wang, Julian finished the first night with an epic 720 gainer off the diving board completely naked! He was not in control. NOS was.

The weekend continued and Julian’s condoms had not even been opened!! The second day of the concert, while walking the half mile from the parking lot to the festival, Allen Stone, (yes, of ‘Allen Stone Makes Dreams Come True’) noticed Julian with his hands down his pants following the group in an awkward wiggle. He approached and inquired the situation;

“Julian! What the Fuck are you doing?!”

“I’m putting on a condom!!” He replied.

“What! A condom? It’s 97 degrees, you don’t have a bonesie, and are definitely not about to have sexual relations?!” Then repeats,

“What the Fuck are you doing?!”

In passionate defense Julian states,

“Look man, I got my pink fanny pack, I got my wrist band, I got my tequila water bottles, my Dr. Pepper lip smackers, and I got a fucking condom on my little wankis, I mean FUCK! You never know what’s going to happen at Coachella!!”



Julain after attaching his limped wang condom.



No Julian, you never do know what’s going to happen! Like you probably didn’t think you would have given out 738 hugs, primarily to other men, you probably didn’t think you were going to spill a bottle of Tequila on your bloody cut and cracked feet burning them to all extremes, and you probably after 2 hours of wearing your condom at Coachella didn’t think it would fall off in the middle of the dance party to Yelle at the Mohave tent. Once you realized that a condom slid off your dick and out the bottom of your board shorts you continued to pick it up in excitement thinking it was money. Suddenly turning disgusted realizing you were picking up a condom off the ground, yet instantly again realizing it was your condom that fell off your limp dick making you completely giddy with pride that it stayed on your wang the entire time!! Then you smelled it!? Needless to say the levels of silliness were definitely hitting a 13!!

The final evening was upon us! To ensure our silliness level had hit a 13, the NOS Father, Julain, and I did the only thing we knew could spill us over the top. We started a skinny dipping swim session in our NOS Coachella Estate pool, the largest residential pool in the Palm Springs area!! We all jumped in with nothing but birthday suits, NOS, and booze! Feeling the water flow over our bodies was such relief after a treacherous weekend of molly, sassafras, cs2g5 or some crazy shit like that, cocaine, NOS, Don Q, Bud Light, marijuana cigarettes, Tequila, Vodka, laced sweet tarts, and some acid. As we all surfaced from our inaugural skinny dip jump, we realized that no others had followed. We were 3 silly boys, naked, in the poosie. Yes, my friends we had all reached a 13!! The rest of the night went as most do, sleepless, naked dance parties, the filming of the traditional cribs episode, drugs, liquor, NOS, NOS, NOS!!! At the end of the evening it was 7:20 in the morning. The sun was fully up in the sky as NOS Father, Julian, myself, Blakely, Deltron 3000, and some crazy chick Pierce brought over caught the first rays. Julian looked as though he was relieved. I asked him;

“Julian! What the Fuck are you doing?!”

He says,

“I was wearing my condom, and I had to pee… so I started peeing… then it filled up the condom until it exploded on my tummy all warm.” He replied in delighted abandon.

At that point it was clear and evident, that the Coachella NOS Estate would crown this year’s NOS Monster as JULIAN GAVILANES!!!! Congrats my heterosexual life partner, I love you, welcome once again to insanity!!

Kanye West finished the festival weekend with one of the most amazing live performances of all time, just as Julian performed with his highest levels of silliness at a 13!! “Can we get much higher” Kanye asks?! Yes, Mr. West , we can with the power of NOS, friends, love, and music…. So high. I will leave you all with the inspiration behind Julian’s condom wearing. Gabriel and Julian’s father Diego Gavilanes always told them as children…

“Boys! Muchachos! Remember to always wear protection, I’m wearing one right now!”

So let us all strap condoms on our limp penises and rejoice in the glory that is the 2011 NOS MONSTER, Julian Paul Gavilanes!

Allen Stone Makes Dreams Come True

A furiously crowded Nuemos rambled with anticipation. Allen Stone, a singer song writer, from the oh so rural Chewelah, Wa is achieving the American dream. Not to be confused with the other American dream that was sought out by millions immigrating to the new western land, but the small droplet of hope and passion that some people actually still have! The people who are not subsiding to society, who are following a talent, a skill, a passion just as so many artists have before. But this ain’t no game like our daddies played, this shit here is new, it’s different, and Allonious Funk (as I like to call him) is playin, and damn boi, he’s good! Like so many country boys with a dream, Allen packed up his handkerchief and walking stick traveling outward to the biggest and closet city, Spokane. No, no no, only an idiot would do that, he moved to Seattle! From than he played cafes, house parties, and any gig a man could get. The struggle of every local musician, except Allen’s raw talent slowly started making a local impact. In the last 2 years he has progressed from playing the Q Café, to selling out the High Dive, than the Tractor, and to what belief, a boy may believe his dreams to come true when he sold out the historic Crocodile! But now, after continuously touring the states, hot off of playing multiple SXSW showcases, Allen Stone is on the headlining bill at Nuemos. Excitement is happening, hard work is paying off, I am getting completely drunk and having a great time! Then the house lights drop.

A sound begins to grow from the speakers, though through the darkness, there was light. A glowing halo of wavy blonde locks flows to center stage. The crowd chants in rhythm with the band, “Allen Stone, Allen Stone, Allen Stone”! He had the people, wild, at “hello”!  He began to sing, what I and most Seattleites are cursing about this time of the year, “I can’t stand the rain”. Smooth, sexual, fucking groovy baby. The band was in instant synchronicity, Allen’s voice, smooth and gritty, cheerful and soulful, warm, the party rages! Strung together by Allonious himself a band of local players was highlighted by Sharief Hobley on lead guitar, a musician from NYC who’s played with big soul sound hitters like John Legend. To Al’s left, BGP front man Brandon Ghorley kept the keys and harmonies kickin, along with Andrew Vait from Eternal Fair tootin on that saxophone, and superior booms and blaps thumped by Tyler Carrol, a UW student with fucking skills. On the sticks, Nick Molenda was steady, smooth, and striking side by side with Greg Ehrlich on the organ pushin in the funk with a goal to unload the soul. “3 TIMES”… BAM BAM BAM, Allen shouts and the band delivers. Right on righteous brother of bravery! All the while, mayhem is happening, an overjoyed lad in the crowd simultaneously was dancing vigorously with four ladies of lush and singing lyric for lyric every cut. Slowly he pushed the females off one by one, to put his full energy into the music, and perhaps save the ladies for later. Needless to say Allen Stone on stage is a tractor beam of attention! His flailing hands and grandpa thick spectacles leaves most newcomers in awkward belief that the voice they are hearing is… that guy?! Note by note, he guides you with a sound and tone of a soulful brotha with lyrical content that is deep, emotional, and even at times political. Somewhere in the middle of the set, it seemed that an elf princess hovered to center stage as Allonious Funk took a seat at the keys. This was no elf, but perhaps a princess as her voice was perfection for the song “Reality” arranged tonight as a duet. Her name is Alessandra Rose.  Her and Allen’s voices were a blessing to experience together and needs to be laid down on some wax stat. The moment of mellow was quickly changed up to a power house ending with cuts like “Vibe With You”, “Push, Pull, Tear”, and “Not Another Break Up Song”. We danced and drank, cheered with joys, and even sang Happy Birthday to one of Allen’s high school teachers who was in attendance! A thanks is given, but the crowd pounded for more, when moments later Allen returned to stage with his guitar. The crowded and inebriated Nuemos populous went silent as “Last to Speak” resonated the rafters with righteous glory. A dream that we all were watching unfold before our eyes was making the dreams that we have seem possible in an impossible world of hurdles and bounds. Allen Stone has landed on the other side and is lighting the way for all believers to follow in sound and soul. Go into the light, and find Allen Stone.

www.myspace.com/allenstone

www.twitter.com/allen_stone

www.facebook.com/allenstone

                                                                                                                               

The Sexual Insanity that is 'Sugar Skulls'

Two eyes, a lens, and a machine of power far beyond our universe took hold of my conscious being and melted it to the floor. Her stare pierced through each strings vibration, charming them to tingle in the tones of her soul. Vibrations were everywhere, and a taste for sin dove down my spinal cord and into my toes. These girls are sexy, sensual and divine, goddesses harvesting the fruit of my loins through electro keyed funk punk pendulum of poweress metal purities!  A symphony of strings struck from the violin player, her fingers moving as if not attached to her hand, audibly creating her hallucinations for all to hear. Her dress transparent in the stage light gave way to her stockings, dancing in synchronicity with the swaying of her arm, piecing together the woes and wants of the typical man fantasy.  Which most typical men aren’t quite typical at all. They’re filled with wild sex fantasies of multiple woman and snorting copious amounts of cocaine, at the same time! Watching the Sugar Skulls on stage made that all seem possible. A roaring stream of sexual insanity flourished by the thrilling echoes of “love me” or “fuck me” or maybe that’s just what I was hearing… ah, I ache for more. The tenderness of each face radiates the stage with awe as my head bounces to the drummer’s strikes. He pounds the rubble into a feminine ensemble and makes everyone want to say, “fuck yea”.  As each sight shares an epic beauty, your attention is not held for long as equivalent qualifications jive next door. From the violin player I move center stage and find Ursula. Stunning. I have never seen a female bass player pound the foundation of the civilization that is Sugar Skulls like I did that night. Her fingers where quick and nimble, powerful yet full of finesse. Talented and tantalizing! I gazed in with a blank stare, unexpected of wild desire. Her eyes move across the crowd as if they were a politely rolling wave gracing the middle of the Pacific Ocean with a rustic groove. They locked with mine. I was thrown into a contortion of, YYYYEEEEEEAAAAAAAAA!! I rumbled with a furry that I hoped to be equivalent with the proportions of Sugar Skulls, and I believe it was. Answered by the drummer, I strode upon the blessed alter and proceeded to seduce and conduct the stimulation of sinful desire, of sexual destiny, of what the early believers called rock and roll. And yes, I rocked the fuck out to one nasty drum solo that my mind never fully comprehended in the first place. Nicely done. And yet, the light beams still reach beyond, further onto the stage to find behind a Motif which motive is to manipulate men into her malice and madness, the key player powered by the red vinyl tie strapped around her neck, holding on for safety as she shrills spoken words of acceptable insanity. Her left heel stomps in time as she simultaneously plays harmonies with crooked fingers of fantasy. At times pure punk was flowing, and at times the funk, at times the metal, at times Bob Ross’s scientifically experimental twin painted rainbows of sound waves overhead that dripped into the crowd and melted the wicked away. The Sugar Skulls finished and began to leave… but, they forgot about one thing, their promise! The promise of silly toys! Lighted gems and a model Chevy machine hung gracefully from my chain of glitter. Thank you key player’s mom, for the Marde Gras beads! They are hung in my home around the Buddha’s neck, in peaceful remembrance of the night I was saved, the night I found salvation. The night I saw the Sugar Skulls.

                                                                              

http://www.myspace.com/sugarskullsrocks

The Continuing Adventures of X, Y, and Z.

A.

It started about 4 years ago. Of course just as a hypothesis. Two variables of the world collided as they do and don’t so oftenly living as parts of natural habitats. Upon the variables congregation, the scientists in the sky took note on the interesting energy reactions they had made together. The equation to make sense of these variables was believed to been lost in the dreams of before, so naturally the scientists in the sky had to find its solution! They had no choice as chosen specimens for the scientists in the sky, which is perhaps why they valued such desires. The godly creation of a woman, even by the scientist in the sky, seemed to be impossible. So, the variables created nectar of another mind with the small amount of available resources in their imprisoned home to get through the infinite days of observations. They made beer.  Here, they shared tales of once before and never again, ideas of their own wonder wasted away in the inevitable imprisonment, each day they sunk into that big blue sofa churning ideas.  X was young, Y was younger, both adult males of the human species. The sofa was a stolen gift from an old friend who felt bad. An item at the furniture warehouse was purchased, by the X in this equation, for a full undiscounted price. The employee then supplied X with a free sofa and love seat to match, relinquishing his stupidity for not discounting X’s originally purchased items in the first place. Later it was found that not only had the employee been stealing furniture to give to friends, but the management was simply just stealing money. Needless to say that particular furniture warehouse did not last long. Luckily the sofa did.

X and Y puzzled the scientists in the clouds for countless days, months, and years while further grooves and stories filled this sofa until it stank of their creation. Yet, no equation had been solved or reconciled. Mostly it seemed by the experiments that these variables chose to speak more often than listen. They spoke for the unspoken and gave them words, Robin Hoods of life, using these words as weapons, battling each other and themselves! Y found refuge in the aesthetics and X in the functions. Yet, each found argument of the other side convincing, and yet again, for each finding sprung a disappearance! There are two sides to every story but nothing on the back of this page. Time grew and the appetite for discovery was wearing thin in the sky. The scientists in the clouds were ready to mark such a case as inconclusive. The variables were ready to make their case elusive. Still the day wore on.

Celebrating Soul in the Silliest

A lighted way we follow. Towards a hill of sorts, with people superior from most upon it. This is only a quick stop on a journey to a time far beyond my generation. Proper credentials are required for such a place, so fetch them we do upon this, hill. A light on racism is granted from a humble colored man and his classical music. We follow their changes in a tortoise paced rhythm along twisted hills and lighted paths. We search out tonight in celebration, specific and metaphoric … to find release. A gangster from the east coast had reached another passage of life, which is rather odd, but worth applause. If you may, now clap in his rejoice, I would be thankful.

We found a point to go ashore and free ourselves from being stricken by restraint. The fresh air was exceptional and our fingertips ignited with flame.  “Ahh, just a short distance now,” he said as we approached an orderly waste! 11:15pm… wretched timing to travel to a time far beyond my generation! Must we stay in this dimension for much longer?! Our throats quenched the nectar of a new mind. The perimeter walls bowed convex from the capacity of similar thoughts as smiles and laughs smeared down the tinted windows. Fun was happening. The neighboring establishment gave us temporary shelter and nectars a’ plenty as our star gate to salvation slowly relieved itself of patrons! Our excitement was now growing like a beanstalk, passing the clouds, ready to climb! Action was taken. The cost of compliance with time travel was $10 a person. I paid and was tagged like the others with ink. Inside, a dim tunnel of bricks echoed with love, we knew that we must make it through and find our destination of destiny!

The vibrations grew more thunderous with each step. My toes started to tingle, then my legs and hips. My fingers felt electric, everything was changing, you could see beyond, you could feel the soul. Endless limbs flailed in discontent from the real world and journeyed into a world far beyond our minds, a world where you can watch the conception of all the sounds floating through the mainstream. We made it! So what now? What do we do with wealth of inspiration and desire, a time immortalized on vinyl, speaking to us face to face? We do the only thing such noble steeds as ourselves may, get completely shit faced and dance our asses off!! Hit me two times!! Soul Nite at the Lo-Fi, peep that shit fools.

Wasted Time

It is a great feeling in a man’s life when he has finished his day of work. Maybe stopped by the market to get a sixer of his favorite brew, and then continued strolling on home to see his wonderful lady and to retire for the evening. On most nights this happens as peacefully and as simply as it sounds, but tonight wasn’t like most nights… Watch Out People!! Cause people are watching you, and every move you make. Tonight I was informed that I was CARELESS!! How could you say such a thing, my smile is cheery and my eyes are bright with care and love you fucking idiot! I’m the silliest boy in the world, a Sultan, but tonight I joined the ranks of suspicious night time J Walkers! OK, this is how it happened; I stepped into the red flashing ‘Do Not Walk’ glair, I checked left, than right, then left… then right. Shit a speeding car, STOP… wait, and continue to cross. I made it to the other side!! That’s when I felt the spot light on the back of my neck like I was laying on a bed at the tanning salon. What the fuck, I thought to myself, turning around to see a young eager SPD officer out of his car demanding me to remain on the curb with my hands in visible sight. At first I believed this could be profiling, I mean my beard makes me look like Osama Bin Brentious the Jewish Mexican! Not this game again I thought to myself as I mentally checked my pockets for any weed I might have… nope clean. Sweet, this should be easy. “Ever been to jail!?” the officer eagerly asked me… I said, “Not really.” He looked puzzled, and I realized a young confused cop is how innocent wood whittlers get killed, so I played the no sir, yes sir game after that… fucker. The officer grabbed my ID, ordered me to sit on the curb, and went back to his car to run my sheet after some questioning. Why were you J walking? It wasn’t intentional. Don’t you know how dangerous it is? A human body in front of thousands of pounds of accelerating steel, or a piece of shit cop and his gun here in Seattle, yes sir, I do know how dangerous both are. What may have been some better options? To stay inside all day and write for my fucking blog so I never get hurt and never realize that stupid shit like this actually does happen! THANKS Officer Obvious, I learned a lot!! Now as a sat on the curb of Mercer and 2^nd Ave W on a Friday night, Ozzy’s blaring with inebriation all around, police lights flashing in my face, the public driving by and judging that dirty bearded boy on the curb, my completely sober brain just laughed and heavily desired a brew from the grocery bag sitting on the curb next to me. Finally Officer Fuck Face emerged from his patrol car utterly disappointed. “I guess you’re right, you have never been to jail.” He granted me permission to take my groceries and have a good night. I stopped and smiled, turned to him and said what many of you may feel the need to tell me after reading my blog… “Thanks for wasting my time!”

Thoughts in a Day…

Another day another dollar

So they say, so we bother.

An essence gone.

Caught hold in the on.

Fanning sweat to leave us cool,

Let it drop, into the pool.

Now, Dilute the water color.

Let the page flutter,

Watch it wave good bye.

Someday come back, say hi.

We’ll be the best of friends,

For ourselves again and again.

So which is to do,

Which is to be?

The which is what clue?

Wobbles top heavy.

They climb the clouds

And topple mounds,

With covered cloaks

Or bottles broke.

Without no meter,

The tot not teeter,

And you fall to the ground.